Free The Buccaneers by Edith Wharton Page A

her to come in and take a look at the lovely dress Mrs. Connelly had just sent home, or the embossed soup-tureen of Baltimore silver offered by Mr. Closson’s business friends. Miss Testvalley did not always accept; but sometimes she divined that Mrs. Closson wished to consult her, or to confide in her, and while her pupil joined the other girls, she would clear the finery from a chair and prepare to receive Mrs. Closson’s confidences—which were usually connected with points of social etiquette, indifferent to the lady herself, but preoccupying to Mr. Closson.
    â€œHe thinks it’s funny that Dick’s family haven’t cabled, or even written. Do they generally do so in England? I tell Mr. Closson there hasn’t been time yet—I’m so bad at answering letters myself that I can’t blame anybody else for not writing! But Mr. Closson seems to think it’s meant for a slight. Why should it be? If Dick’s family are not satisfied with Conchita, they will be when they see her, don’t you think so?” Yes, certainly, Miss Testvalley thought so. “Well, then—what’s the use of worrying? But Mr. Closson is a business man and expects everybody to have business habits. I don’t suppose the Marquess is in business, is he?”
    Miss Testvalley said no, she thought not; and for a moment there flickered up in Mrs. Closson a languid curiosity to know more of her daughter’s future relations. “It’s a big family, isn’t it? Dick says he can never remember how many brothers and sisters he has; but I suppose that’s one of his jokes.... He’s a great joker, isn’t he; like my Ted! Those two are always playing tricks on everybody. But how many brothers and sisters are there, really?”
    Miss Testvalley, after a moment’s calculation, gave the number as eight; Lord Seadown, the heir, Lord John, Lord Richard—and five girls; yes, there were five girls. Only one married as yet, the Lady Camilla. Her own charges, the Ladies Honoria and Ulrica, were now out; the other two were still in the school-room. Yes; it was a large family—but not so very large, as English families went. Large enough, however to preoccupy Lady Brightlingsea a good deal—especially as concerned the future of her daughters.
    Mrs. Closson listened with her dreamy smile. Her attention had none of the painful precision with which Mrs. St. George tried to master the details of social life in the higher spheres, nor of the eager curiosity gleaming under Mrs. Parmore’s pale eyelashes. Mrs. Closson really could not see that there was much difference between one human being and another, except that some had been favoured with more leisure than others—and leisure was her idea of heaven.
    â€œI should think Lady Brightlingsea would be worn out, with all those girls to look after. I don’t suppose she’s had much time to think about the boys.”
    â€œWell, of course she’s devoted to her sons too.”
    â€œOh, I suppose so. And you say the other two sons are not married?” No, not as yet, Miss Testvalley repeated.
    A flicker of interest was again perceptible between Mrs. Closson’s drowsy lids. “If they don’t either of them marry, Dick will be the Marquess some day, won’t he?”
    Miss Testvalley could not restrain a faint amusement. “But Lord Seadown is certain to marry. In those great houses it’s a family obligation for the heir to marry.”
    Mrs. Closson’s head sank back contentedly. “Mercy! How many obligations they all seem to have. I guess Conchita’ll be happier just making a love-match with Lord Richard. He’s passionately in love with her, isn’t he?” Mrs. Closson pursued with her confidential smile.
    â€œIt would appear so, certainly,” Miss Testvalley rejoined.
    â€œAll I want is that she should be happy; and he will make her happy, won’t he?” the